


Blooms Feelings.

by wemow



Category: Quarantine - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wemow/pseuds/wemow





	Blooms Feelings.

Fuck.

God, _fuck._

His hands were shaking, stiff and white-knuckled, although there was barely a difference between the skin of the latter and what surrounded it. Even someone as pale as he now looked flesh-toned when compared to the dull corpse beneath him.

'Hah,' Itnan used to begin, a triumphant ring to his voice.

'Kóy,' said he, pressing their forearms together to compare the shades between their skin. 'No wonder you stay inside all the time. If you spent a second outta the house, you'd burn to death.'

It wasn't as if he was any better. His skin, a bit peachier in tone, was only a couple of shades darker than Kóy's. Only paper was lighter than Itnan, just as Kóy was lighter than paper.

It was one in the morning, probably; last time he'd checked, it was zero-fifty. Curiosity was an odd fellow, with an even odder sense of humor, as it had moved him for the sole purpose of tightening his clammy fingers around Itnan's neck. The freckles speckled across the stiff, ashy body were already beginning to fade; the light, long gone from Itnan's striking brunet eyes, left behind endless pools of pitch. Kóy barely even remembered the moments between now, and before instinct put him in a chokehold. Moonlight poured into the dark room through the thin slits between the window blinds, shining onto the killer and his work and illuminating them with distorted rectangles and blueish-grey hues. 

If he had the emotions to express proper grief, he would have been sobbing.

Maybe it was a sort of shock that caused tears to stain his cheeks, while he lifted Itnan's forearm to press against his. Had no time passed until he was now almost as pale as Kóy? The lower half of his upper-arms seemed to gather a pinker tinge, and the color had already begun draining from his lips and cheeks. Itnan looked so peaceful, it felt unreal.

But it _was_ real; Kóy knew it was real. His legs were limp on either side of Itnan's torso: earlier, in order to lessen the struggle, he had straddled Itnan and applied his weight onto the base of the larynx, using his thumbs to cut off air supply. It felt natural: a perfect fit in the palm, and a comfortable curve for his thin, pale fingers. Itnan hadn't even struggled against him, from what little he remembered.. it was truly a game for him, the prize now handed to him on a silver platter.

So why couldn't he stop crying?

The act, while it lasted, felt like a sort of bliss he didn't even know could exist. What came after--what was happening now--was a living hell he had been protected from until this moment. This is what emotion felt like, and Kóy loathed it. 

"F-F-... N-No-" he choked, his body curling up against Itnan's, his hands now subconsciously reaching for something to grip onto--anything. 

"Wa-ake u-u-up, p-please." 

Hot tears were drenching Itnan's t-shirt. His fingers navigated to the dull arms, lack at Itnan's sides, on the bed. They were still warm: something that Kóy, for the first time, considered a comfort. It wouldn't last, however, unlike his newfound emotion.

If ever there was a place was named Hell, this was it.


End file.
